“Oh, Jabez—dear Jabez, forgive me all I made you suffer here; for oh! I have repented bitterly.”
He was stunned, bewildered. His passionate declaration of love was made as a claim to her confidence, not to her affection; and now—“dear Jabez!” Did he hear aright? For an instant he was silent from very incapacity to speak. Her bent head touched his knees.
Slowly, reverently, as if she had been a saint, with every nerve of his strong frame trembling with emotion, he raised her from the ground; but no arm went round her now. He held both her hands in his, and looked steadfastly down upon her; but no answer made he to her plea for pardon. Constraint in voice and words was apparent and painful, but emotion grew too strong for control.
“Augusta, what is the meaning of this? For God’s sake do not mislead me! I seem on the threshold of heaven or madness. Is it possible that I, plain Jabez Clegg, can be ‘dear’ to you?”
“Dearer than life!”
Clear, full, and earnest came the words from her soul, clear and truthful were the eyes that now sought his.
“Thank God!”
He held her in his arms with a straining clasp, which told how long they had quivered to embrace her so. His eyes lit up with an intensity of love she knew not he could feel, and never had his lips met woman’s in such fond kisses as he pressed on hers.
The concentrated love of years seemed gathered to a focus then. “Life of my life!” he called her, and she knew and felt it was so.
If the shade of the departed Ellen could have looked upon them there, remembering how she had rushed to his embrace in that very spot, and how different had been the kiss imprinted on her wifely brow, would she have reproached him? I wis not.